


Heaven Is In The Details

by RalphTime



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hank Anderson Deserves Happiness, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Self-Indulgent, They’re idiots your honour, finished work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29152791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RalphTime/pseuds/RalphTime
Summary: Connor is going on a date. It was bound to happen sometime, he’s a catch after all. Hank isn’t surprised he’s not the only person who’s realised that. It’s fine. Really, it’s fine. Let’s all stop talking about it.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Original Male Character(s), Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 16
Kudos: 75





	1. Tina Makes Everyone Uncomfortable

Hank stared into his paper cup of coffee and pretended he wasn’t living his worst nightmare. That’s not hyperbole either, he was pretty sure he’d had this exact nightmare in some form or another. Thankfully, in the real version he wasn’t covered in bees. He’d almost had the quiet lunch break with Connor he’d planned on, but then Tina had joined them several minutes ago and it had all gone to shit. 

“Do you know what you’re going to wear yet?” Tina had stopped eating her fruit salad altogether, eyes sparkling with delight. 

“Uhh.. Well no, actually, but I have a few ideas.” Connor had his head cocked to one side, LED circling yellow and eyes a little glazed. Hank knew this look well by now as the face Connor made when sifting through data. It was one of the first things he’d been able to read and understand about Connor when they met. He‘d never have guessed that he’d be seeing it again, six months later, as Connor selected an outfit for a date. 

As Tina launched into a full interrogation of Connor’s wardrobe, Hank gulped down the last of his coffee and pride. He feigned disinterest at the conversation and took to staring at his phone. It was a ridiculous question, anyway. It didn’t matter what Connor wore, he’d look damn amazing and that dickhead he was meeting would be lucky to get to see it. That wasn’t entirely fair, Tristan wasn’t a dickhead. It would be a lot easier for Hank if he was. 

They’d met him on a case a week ago, when a lead in a string of android killings had led them across the river to Belle Isle. Tristan was the lifeguard at Belle Isle beach and Hank couldn't blame the kid for taking a liking to Connor. He also couldn’t blame Connor for accepting his invitation for ’a drink sometime’. He was exactly the kind of guy Connor should be going for drinks with: 

\- An android (so age wasn’t a factor but at least they’d look like a reasonable couple)

\- Active, and outdoorsy, likely able to keep up with Connor on a hike without sweating and wheezing 

\- Handsome, in an easy going surfer kind of way. In fact, Hank had originally thought Tristan reminded him of how he himself had looked in his youth

He winced at that thought now. It hurt to think that he would‘ve had a chance with Connor had they met twenty years ago. Then again, Tristan still would’ve been the better match. No struggling to stay sober (though androids have an unfair advantage, the update to allow them to drink alcohol had only come out about a month back). No emotional baggage, that Hank knew of, and most painful of all, he was one of Connor’s own kind. Hank had seen android couples walking through the park where he took Sumo, fingers interlaced and skin retracted in some wordless heart-to-heart. He couldn’t give that to Connor, but Tristan could. Every brick in the high, strong walls he built around himself shook and threatened to crumble whenever Connor smiled at him, but Hank would never be able to open up to Connor as perfectly as that. It would be so much simpler if Tristan had given Hank a single reason to hate him. Then he could tell himself that the guy didn’t deserve Connor, that despite all his flaws Hank would be better for Connor. He knew the opposite was true. It would only be a matter of time until Connor worked it out himself. Then he‘d move out and spend all his time with, if not Tristan then some other perfect, happy android. Hank would be reduced to seeing Connor at work, getting brief smiles over a terminal. This was just the first step. Connor’s first ever date. 

It would be easy to think Hank was getting ahead of himself there, but Connor had taken so quickly to life as a deviant. He seemed on an unstoppable trajectory, racing through hobbies, books, places and experiences and seeming to know in an instant when he’d found something he loved. It hadn’t all been plain sailing, there were still nights when Connor sobbed and shook in Hank’s arms on the couch, but Hank could hardly blame him. Freedom’s a heavy load when you’re not used to it. Connor struggled, but he was tenacious as the day Hank met him. Once he’d learned something, he made it look so effortless that you’d think he’d lived a whole human life doing it, and boy, would it be beautiful.

Hank had realised he was in love with Connor in one of those beautiful moments. Since the revolution, Hank’s house was alive with sound, day and night. With nowhere to go, Connor had moved in to the spare room and within days he’d listened to every record in Hank’s collection several times over. Then, he’d moved on to the music on Hank’s laptop, and soon he was hoarding his own collection of records and music files. Connor’s taste was eclectic, sometimes god awful in Hank’s opinion, but he was quietly relieved the house had life and sound in it again. Singing was a natural progression in Connor’s exploration of music, but the sound he made was anything but natural. Connor sung like a machine, at first: perfect and empty. The best way Hank could describe it was it sounded like a teacher trying to teach the song to a student. Connor sang the precise right notes as loud and clear as possible with no real emotional flair. He put this down to Connor‘s usual downfall- trying too hard and thinking too much- and decided to say nothing about it. As long as Connor was having fun. 

Then one morning he woke to hear what had to be an angel in his kitchen. At first he’d thought the radio sounded clearer than normal, but he recognised that voice. He’d made his way down the hall in his boxers instead of throwing on a shirt and sweats like normal. The sound was so sweet and hypnotising that Hank felt his legs were moving towards it all on their own. As the dawnlight from the kitchen hit the hallway it glowed against the faded wallpaper in a warm and inviting orange. Hank was briefly convinced he was dreaming. Then Connor came into view, and Hank’s feet stopped. Connor was washing Sumo’s bowls and refilling them with food and water, dancing around the kitchen as he did so with the lazy old dog wandering behind him. Sumo’s tail was wagging in that sleepy way that said he was calm and content, and Connor would pause to lean down and scratch behind the mutt’s ear every now and then. 

The sound was coming from Connor. Over the running of the tap, he was singing idly to himself- or to Sumo, Hank wasn’t sure. He recognised the tune as some dumb pop song from the radio he’d scoffed at in the car on their commute. Connor had narrowed his eyes at him then and called him a snob. Hank was now ready to claim it was the most beautiful song he’d ever heard. Connor wasn’t thinking too much about getting it right, he even messed up on the lyrics now and then when his attention turned to the sink, but god, it was perfect. Hank didn’t dare move in case he startled this gorgeous song bird standing in his kitchen. His mouth hung open as he watched Connor’s agile hips sway to the upbeat tune. 

Connor‘s hair was a mess on one side from laying in stasis overnight. He had on a pair of blue, checkered pyjama bottoms, and he’d rolled the legs of them up around his mid calf. He always seemed to do that, and Hank wasn‘t sure why, nor was he sure why it was so damn endearing. He also wore a plain white T-shirt, splattered with the evidence of his long abandoned painting phase that never quite washed out. He sounded playful, and he looked happy. Hank felt at that moment that he was seeing Connor for the first time. A completely authentic Connor, free of the baggage of the revolution or the rocky weeks that followed. This man in his kitchen was free and alive and all the things Connor had pretended so hard not to be when they first met. 

Hank had noticed little things before now. The way his eyes seemed to follow Connor out of a room without his say-so, or the way making Connor laugh made his chest swell and his face burn pink. He’d never for a moment considered that it might be love. Why would he? Connor was so out of his league it would be like being in love with a work of art: you can admire its brilliance, but anything past that would be ridiculous. Now he was hit with the inescapable, wonderful and dreadful knowledge that he was wholeheartedly in love with this man. The realisation made his heart thump faster in his chest, and his stomach drop. It was an exhilarating and terrible feeling. He fought the urge to move, but it was so strong that he could almost see a dream like projection of it. He wanted to walk into the kitchen and wrap his arms around Connor from behind, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He wanted to lay his tired head against Connor’s shoulder while he danced and swayed in his arms. The thought of turning his head and kissing the soft point between Connor’s neck and shoulder made him swallow hard. Connor noticed him then, and waved, smiling and carrying on dancing. Hank knew then that he was in love. 

The two weeks that followed between that morning and this lunch time had been some of the hardest of Hank’s recent years, and yet the most alive too. He’d become a teenager again, laughing at bad jokes, pining, stealing glances and shyly turning away when he was caught. He couldn’t let Connor know the ways he thought about him. Hank didn‘t know whether pity or disgust would feel worse but he was sure one or both of them would play on that handsome face if Connor ever knew. He’d be uncomfortable that his friend had turned out to be some old pervert, checking him out when he was unaware. He’d move out, and the house would be silent again. Hank couldn’t bear the thought of that. It seemed it might happen anyway, with Connor becoming more socially confident. At least this way Connor was happy. Hank could bear anything to make that guy smile. 

  
  
  


Because of this, Hank faked interest at the screenshot from a menswear website Tina had thrust under his nose. He knew he was being selfish, Connor was as nervous as he was excited about the prospect of dating. As much as it hurt for Hank to admit they were just friends, he was a shit friend if he didn’t give him some support. He tuned back in to the conversation in time to hear Tina finishing a list of ‘conversational red flags’ that had Connor’s LED block yellow. 

”Fucking hell, Chen, trust you to try and scare the kid off men altogether before he’s ever dated one” he laughed. 

Tina rolled her eyes, but smiled, and Connor looked more relaxed now Hank had rejoined them. 

”You gotta be careful it's a jungle out there!” Hank knew Tina well enough to know she was serious, but she kept her tone playful, for Connor’s sake. “I’m just gifting him with the wisdom of my experience.” She put her hand on her chest and held her chin up high as she said it, looking comically regal. 

“What about your experience, Lieutenant?” 

It took Hank a beat to realise Connor had said it, his voice was so soft and unsure. He glanced over to him and saw Connor’s eyes were just as soft. It wasn’t like Connor to show much vulnerability at work, he kept his uncertain, naive side carefully guarded usually. Hank was sure that he was the only human trusted enough to see it so far, and he’d been honoured by that. Hank hoped the smile he gave Connor masked the sadness he felt realising their nights of gentle, open talks were coming to an end. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, bud. I imagine android dating is a lot different to human dating when I was younger. You’re a smart guy, be yourself and trust your gut. That’s what my dad used to say, anyway.” He thought this was pretty good, if vague, advice, but Connor raised an eyebrow at it. 

“You say ‘when I was younger’ like your dating days are behind you. You’re unattached, there’s no reason you shouldn’t-” As Connor spoke, Hank was raising a hand and shaking his head while Tina nodded hers emphatically. 

“That’s exactly what I’ve been telling him!” She interrupted. “You’re single, you’re- well the wardrobe needs work but you scrub up nice!” She gave him a playful elbow in the gut. “I’m serious, Hank, you’re a sweet guy, you should get back out there.” 

Hank shook his head and snorted like he thought the idea was so dumb it almost amused him, which wasn’t far from the truth. When he turned to Connor, he was surprised to see how earnestly the guy was staring at him. He seemed truly hung up on Hank’s reaction. 

“Ah, I don’t know...” Hank started, a little confused by Connor’s eagerness. Then it hit him. Connor wanted him to find someone else. It was unlikely Connor knew how he felt, he’d hidden it so well he was starting to think he might be cut out for undercover work. He hadn’t considered Connor might feel guilty about leaving him, though. It must be hard for Connor to enjoy his life starting knowing Hank’s would only get lonelier once he’d gone. Maybe this was his way of assuaging his guilt about moving on. Hank’s smile got a little sadder.

“... I‘m happy on my own. It’s what I’m best at.” He finished. 

Connor seemed to be studying Hank’s expression for a moment, before sitting back. Tina had already moved on to talking about how her girlfriend's mother's friend fell in love at  _ 70 _ , but neither of the men at the table were paying attention. Connor looked contemplative, and Hank felt tired.


	2. Good For Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t @ me about the Tom Holland thing, I know how viscerally upsetting the picture I’ve painted is.

It was too quiet. Hank lay across his couch in his worn, grey sweats and a beloved T-shirt for a band that had long since faded out of the public eye. He checked his phone again: 10:47pm, no new messages. He’d expected Connor to be home by now, or ‘hoped’ might be a better word. The date must have been going well and Connor was going to stay the night at Tristan’s. Or perhaps they were still in a bar somewhere, so caught up in effortless conversation that neither had noticed the time.

Hank tossed his phone into one of the cushions near his feet.

“Good luck to the guy” he thought, but he couldn‘t convince the childish jealousy in his gut to stop churning. Sumo lifted his head from the floor by the couch and yawned. Hank picked up and drained the half empty beer on the coffee table. He was allowing himself a little numbness tonight, at least it wasn’t whiskey. As much as he needed to distance himself from reality, the last thing he wanted was Connor coming home to a drunken mess. That would be cruel of him, and might make Connor uncomfortable about leaving him alone in future. Hank couldn’t bear the idea of making Connor feel trapped like that, even if it meant missing him more. He had to be an adult about this. Hank Anderson may be many unpalatable things, but selfish is not one of them.

It was still too quiet. Hank could hear the high pitched tone you hear in the dead silence boring into his head. He could hear himself think. Anxiety wrapped tight around his chest like the arms of an old friend- and it was, in a way. Connor kept it at bay usually, even if he didnt know it. His simply being there occupied Hank’s mind and senses, until there was little room for anything else. Now he was alone, his old friend became more talkative:

_‘What if they‘ve moved on to a club. What if Connor’s pressed against him right now under neon lights, swaying his perfect ass to a thumping beat’_

_‘What if they‘re in a cab, laughing. Hands on each other’s thighs, that guy‘s lips on Connor’s throat.’_

_‘What if they’re in bed-’_

“Good.” Hank grunted aloud, startling Sumo. “Good for them.” It didn’t sound as convincing as he’d meant it to, and when Sumo gently ‘boofed’ in response, Hank took it personally. 

“Ah shut up, like you wouldn’t miss him too.” He put the empty beer down to ruffle the fur on Sumo’s head. The dog wagged his tail, letting it slap into the leg of the coffee table on each left-swing. 

Hank couldn’t take the quiet anymore so he fished the tv remote out from under his thigh and started flipping through channels. Some Jerry Springer type chat show burst to life. Hank only realised it had gotten dark while he sat drinking when the cool bright tones of the television set lit up the living room. The audience booed. A man leapt up from a cheap armchair and stormed across the stage towards two other chairs where a human woman and a nervous AX400 sat holding hands. Two large android bouncers dragged the guy back into his chair as he cursed and called them “plastic assholes”. Large white letters across the bottom of the screen read “My Wife Went Gay... For Our Nanny!” Ever the discerning viewer, Sumo sat upright and focused on the screen. Hank sighed and kept looking through the channels. Weather. Cooking show. Cooking show. Repeat. He found himself watching some terrible movie about a grizzled detective searching for his missing teen daughter. He stuck with it for as long as he could, but seeing an unshaven Tom Holland play a washed up old cop made Hank feel more than a little insecure about his age. Defeated, he switched off the TV and ran both hands through his hair. Sumo looked at him expectantly. 

“Bedtime for us old timers I think, boy.” 

Sumo chuffed in response and stretched. 

Hank made an involuntary noise as he heaved himself off the couch. The house was dark again without the television‘s light, but Hank didn’t mind. Connor would chastise him for wandering about in the dark, especially when his mood was low, but sometimes that was what he needed. Sure, the dim light probably encouraged his sulking somewhat, but a little sulk now and again was a luxury Hank had earned, he decided. He put the empty beers in the trash and tied his hair back out of his face with an elastic band he kept around his wrist. Whistling, he opened the back door and let the cold night air stand the hairs on his arms upright. Sumo understood this was his cue to take his nightly toilet break and trotted past Hank into the garden. 

Meanwhile, Hank took a cigarette off his pack on the table and leaned against the doorframe. He was about to light it when a small chirping sound from the living room turned his head. There was a small, white glow from behind the arm of the couch so Hank put the cigarette back on the table and moved to get his phone. His heart leapt at the idea it might be a text from Connor saying he was on his way back, but he dismissed it as stupid. They hadn’t agreed he’d text. In fact, Hank had stayed late at work to avoid seeing Connor getting ready or having any awkward discussion like that, and come home to an empty house. He might not see or hear from Connor until tomorrow at this rate. He held the phone at nearly arms length from his face and squinted as he put his passcode in. Connor wasn’t here to badger him into getting glasses, so no need to pretend his eyesight wasn’t getting shitty. 

1 New Message: Ben 

Just watched game on record u were right no way was tht a fuckin travel! 

Read 22:58

Hank rubbed his eye with the ball of his hand and smirked. He was about to write back when Sumo started barking. Pocketing his phone, Hank moved cautiously to the door, but soon heard a familiar voice greeting and fussing over the old dog. Connor was home. He exhaled. Hank switched on the light by his record player, then stepped back to sit against the arm of the couch, watching the doorway. He hoped he looked casual and indifferent. Unfortunately, he was so tense at the thought of hearing a rundown of Connor’s romantic evening, he looked more like a guilty schoolboy outside the principal’s office. 

Sumo bounded back into the living room, invigorated, and Connor followed behind him, already unbuttoning his navy overcoat. It might’ve been Hank’s wishful thinking, but he was sure Connor’s face lit up when he saw Hank was still up. 

“Hi!” He called out, shutting the back door and sliding his coat off his shoulders. Connor had a faint blue blush to his cheeks. Hank thought it was from the cold at first, but Connor’s systems didn’t react to cold as sensitively as human circulation. 

“Hey.” He said, watching Connor throw his coat over one of the dining chairs. He noticed Connor taking off a pair of leather gloves, and at first smiled at the way Connor had started swapping functionality for style- he didn’t need gloves after all- but something else about it bothered him. He didn’t have the concentration spare to chase that train of thought, Connor was far too distracting.

As Connor rounded the table to take a thirium bottle out of the cupboard, Hank felt his mouth go dry. To say he looked incredible seemed like an understatement. Of course he did, he was designed to be perfect, and Connor was well aware of how attractive he was to most humans. He dressed well and seemed to know how to accentuate his best features or bring out the golden tones to his eyes when he put his mind to it. He’d chosen some dark blue, figure hugging jeans for his date, paired with a crisp white shirt and a waistcoat in a vivid shade somewhere between orange and terracotta. Connor was already kicking off his shoes, and after a long drink of thirum from the bottle, he unbuttoned the waistcoat that had been clinging to his athletic form. He looked gorgeous in ways that only dreams could. It was common for images of Connor to sneak into Hank’s head when he was masturbating, though he’d always stopped himself from giving into those fantasies. Watching him move in those tight jeans, and smile so sweetly at him, Hank was pretty sure he’d lose that fight with his libido later tonight. 

There was something else that struck him. He wasn’t just ‘sexy’, it wasn’t simple lust or attraction that had him breathing deeper. What made him feel weak and warm was how… ‘Connor’ he looked. Formal and a little stiff but with a playful quality that Hank adored. Even at work where he was the picture of professionalism, Hank could spot a mischievous glint in his eyes from time to time. The burnt orange waistcoat was a questionable choice, in Hank’s opinion- not that anyone tended to ask Hank’s opinion on fashion, and for good reason- but the colour made the blue of his LED stand out brighter. Connor was one of few androids who had chosen to keep his LED. He felt androids shouldn’t have to hide what they are. If he had to hack off a piece of his hardware to be welcomed by most humans, then he wasn’t sure he wanted their approval. Hank loved the tangle of order and anarchy inside Connor. He loved those big, innocent eyes that he knew full well were sharp instruments of a killing machine gone rogue. All androids were gorgeous -hell, the one he met at Kamski’s place crossed his mind sometimes to this day- but none of them were like Connor. 

Hank realised he’d been staring and quickly looked away. 

“Good night?” He didn’t want to ask, but at the same time he was desperate to.

“Mmm!” Connor hummed through a mouthful of thirium, nodding as he swallowed. “Yes, it was helpful. Thank you”

Hank shook his head and laughed. The surprising answer made him less tense, Connor had a way of catching him off guard. 

“Helpful, that’s a new one.” He smiled as Connor screwed the cap back on his thirium and dragged a chair away from the table to sit down. 

“I don’t know how else to describe it!” Connor said, folding his arms tightly. He was smiling, but he looked insecure enough that Hank knew to be gentle with him. 

“Well, did you have fun? Did you ‘click’?” He swallowed down some anxiety and tried to keep an easy going atmosphere, for Connor’s sake. Connor took his favourite quarter out of his pocket and began turning it over between his fingers. 

“Yeah.” He said, unconvincingly. Then, “yeah it was fun” this time with more confidence. 

Hank nodded. He hadn’t considered the possibility Connor might not want to discuss the date with him. He’d never seen Connor interact with someone romantically, maybe he was one of those quiet types by nature who didn’t like to kiss and tell. That was a relief in some ways, Hank was all for supporting Connor’s independence, but hearing him gush about another man was a level of martyrdom he didn’t have the strength for. Still, something felt off, so he pressed on carefully.

“Do you want to talk about it? I mean-.. did he make you uncomfortable or something?” For a moment, Hank forgot that Connor was stronger and faster than anyone he’d ever met, and was already mentally vowing to defend his honour against someone else stronger and faster than he was. To his relief, Connor smiled broadly and shook his head. 

“No, nothing like that.” Connor put his elbow on the table and lay his cheek in his hand. “Were you on your way to bed?”

“Yeah… but I’m not tired. S’fine if you wanna talk or just…” Hank moved from the arm of the couch to sit on the couch properly, and gestured vaguely at the entire living room “... hang out, or whatever.” He felt himself blush and cursed himself silently for it. How could he expect to maintain a normal friendship with this guy if he couldn’t invite him to watch tv without feeling like he was doing something forbidden. 

Connor didn’t seem to notice Hank’s insecurity, which was unusual in and of itself. He placed the coin on the table and ran the index finger of his free hand around its rim. Hank was desperately searching his tired brain for any small talk, or excuse to stay up with Connor a while longer. It turned out, he didn’t need to. Connor opened his mouth then shut it, exhaling heavily through his nose, before speaking.

“Hank, I have an… ethical dilemma.” 

Hank raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Would you say it’s unethical to go on a date with someone when you no you have no romantic interest in them?” He looked up, and Hank was taken aback by the genuine worry in his eyes. 

“Uhh. I guess that depends on what your real reason for going was. I mean, if it was to seduce them for a safe combination, that’s pretty-“ he laughed, but didn’t finish. Hank eyed Connor’s expression carefully. It didn’t change. 

“Why did you go, then?” He asked, his voice softer. 

Connor shrugged and sat back in his chair. Not an “I don’t know” shrug, more the kind of shrug Hank gives to him when asked why he does things he knows are bad for him. In the quiet that followed between them, Sumo drank noisily from his bowl. Hank frowned at his knees. 

“Practice?” He tried. Connor looked up. “I could understand if maybe you wanted to _experience_ a date. Even if the chemistry wasn’t there.” 

Connor looked thoughtful at this. His LED shone a clear yellow, then spun a few times. 

“Sort of. Not so much practice in general.” He huffed and fiddled with the coin on the table. 

Hank, a seasoned interviewer of troubled witnesses, gave him time to think. He picked at the stitching on the arm of the couch. It occurred to Hank now why the gloves had been a strange choice. Androids holding hands and interfacing seemed so commonplace in the street now, and many androids could be shy about who they allowed that intimate access. He scratched his beard and wondered if the gloves were Connor’s bizarre android attempt at being chaste: keeping a barrier between him and his date in case he tried to forge that connection. He was about to ask, when Connor once again decided to take the lead. 

“What if I knew I didn’t have feelings for him, but I was trying to. To replace feelings for someone else” Connor chewed his lip and let go of the coin, letting it rattle against the tabletop. “And if I figured that it would be useful practice even if I didn’t feel anything… because then that “someone else” wouldn't feel intimidated by my lack of experience.” 

Hank was used to Connor asking him difficult questions, but not ones that gave him so many urgent questions of his own. It took a real effort to drag his focus away from mentally listing every android he’d seen Connor smile at, and concentrate instead on the question. Even as he started to speak, a small faction of his brain cells were agreeing that Josh was the most likely candidate. They seemed to talk a lot, and Connor was certainly laughing a lot with him last week. Bastard. 

“Um. Well I’m not sure, bud. That would be… I guess it’s not an ideal-”

Connor interrupted him, dry and sharp. “That means ‘Yes it’s unethical but we’re friends so I’m trying to be on your side.’”

Hank pressed his lips together tightly into a thin line and nodded. Connor sighed. 

“Not that I blame you. We all do unethical shit like that when we start dating. Fuck, I know I did. Not exactly the same way, but-. Look, emotions are messy, they make you do dumb shit sometimes.” He winced as he was saying it. He could feel the words tumbling out while his brain yelled at him to stop making it worse. He rubbed his brow, and took a moment to regroup.

“I think it’s fine as long as you don’t string this guy along any further. And fuck, as for this other guy-” Hank blinked and shook his head. This wasn’t how he’d expected tonight to go. “- well fuck him! I mean if he doesn’t like you as you are just cos you haven’t been around the block as much as he has he’s a fucking idiot.” 

He was going to continue, but he stopped because Connor was laughing a sincere belly laugh, and it was adorable. Hank smiled. 

“I mean it, Con. You shouldn’t have to change for anyone. Don’t chase anyone who thinks you should.” 

Connor was grinning now, and shaking his head. 

“He didn’t- nobody said that I didn’t have enough experience. But… you know the pre-constructions I can do at work? Knowing whether I would have a better chance catching a running suspect if I take the crowded shortcut or the long winded quiet roads?” 

Hank nodded, lost and still a little angry at Josh for giving Connor the impression he wasn’t good enough. In his head it was definitely Josh now, he remembered a few times when Connor had somehow accidentally bumped into him while on lunch. A less emotional Hank might’ve factored in that the library Josh worked at was across from the precinct. A less emotional Hank might also have noted that Connor came back from most lunch breaks with a treat for Hank from the bakery. This Hank was busy wondering what was so great about Josh. 

“I can run those with social situations. I can assimilate all the data I have on someone’s principles, reactions to stimulus, their actions in similar scenarios, and I can rehearse through the conversation with them. It lets me try a few avenues and see which approach has the best success rate.” 

“Yeah, I’m impressed and shit but people don’t work like that, Con. You can’t live that way.”

“It’s not like I _always_ do it. But there’s important conversations in life that I think it’s natural to mentally rehearse.” Connor took Hank’s silence as concession and continued. “So when I became aware of my… romantic feelings towards…a person, I ran several preconstructions and came up with a 43% success ra-“

“Bullshit!” Hank was annoyed now. “Jesus, I thought I was the one with the shitty self image. Have you looked at yourself lately? Who the _fuck_ could possibly say no to that.” He gestured at Connor from head to toe, rising indignation fully taking the lead now to the point where he wasn’t filtering himself as much as he’d like. “Seriously, where is he, I wanna check his head’s screwed on right.” 

Connor had put both elbows on the table and was hiding his face in his hands, but Hank could see he was smiling. No, laughing?

“Hank, will you let me finish?” 

Connor didn’t lift his head until Hank grunted in response. He rested his hands on the table, and Hank could see there was now a very noticeable bluish tinge to his cheeks. 

“He’s… he’s a gentleman. That’s all. No matter which way I ran the conversation, there was a high probability that he’d feel too concerned for _my_ well-being to allow a relationship. That was if he was interested, it’s been a few months since then and I decided it’s likely that he _is,_ so it’s more like 86%.”

“Did you just say months?” Hank was quieter. That off-hand remark had hit him like a splash of cold water. Connor had been pining for _months_ , wording and rewording how he felt about this man for _months_. He’d felt sorry for himself for falling so hard for Connor a few weeks ago, Connor had been carrying this weight on his own for so much longer. 

Connor nodded. He swallowed too, and seemed to lose some of his confidence. Clearly he hadn’t been filtering himself much either. 

“In every simulation I ran, he had the same hang ups. The first was that I hadn’t been deviant for long. He’d have been worried that I was too impressionable, that I’d be confusing feeling safe for feeling love, or that I was just trying to ensure I didn’t lose his friendship.” As Connor gained momentum he looked more relaxed, apart from his fingertips, which picked at his coin anxiously. He smiled, as if nostalgic. “That annoyed me back then. I thought he had no right to encourage me to embrace free will, only to turn around and tell me what I was and wasn’t ready for.” 

He met eyes with Hank, who was visibly confused. 

“I agree with him, now. I’ve developed so much since then. If we were together, I could’ve been worried about whether or not I was growing into the right kind of partner. He was with me every step, encouraging me to be true to myself. Even when he _violently_ disapproved of my music taste.” His eyes sparkled at Hank.

Hank couldn’t feel his legs. Or his arms, or face for that matter. A strong fortress of self doubt and insecurity built over decades protected him from fully getting his hopes up. He couldn’t admit to himself what was happening, but a part of him knew. He daren’t think it. He sat on the precipice, quiet, heart fast. 

  
  


“His second worry would have been whether I was ready for _any_ romantic relationship. Having had no experience whatsoever, he would have worried that I didn’t understand everything involved. The huge emotional and… physical vulnerability a relationship opens up.” 

Hank’s face was hot. He was sweating. He was still. There was an unspoken, irrational fear that this was a dream and if he moved he’d wake himself up. Luckily, Connor appeared comfortable leading him through this. There’d been so many nights on the couch where Hank had held Connor and talked him through so many panic attacks and existential crises, he was happy to let Connor be the gentle voice of reason tonight. 

“Personally, I think I was prepared for that aspect of it. But I started to worry about my lack of experience. I didn’t want to convince him I was ready only to fall apart after our first kiss. Or worse, be so inexperienced that I was a- uh- physical... disappointment. The internet helped… and didn’t help.” Connor shrugged. “When Tristan asked me out, I thought it would be a useful test.” He frowned, and folded his arms across his chest. “God, that really does sound terrible, doesn’t it?” 

Hank shook his head. His voice came out breathy and hoarse. 

“No.”

Connor looked at him, eyebrows drawn up, his eyes sad and searching. After a few moments studying Hank, the tension seeped out of his shoulders and he stood up. Sumo had been curled up by his chair, and stood up with him, but Connor didn’t look down. He kept his eyes on Hank, fingers worrying a button on his waistcoat. Hank found himself turning in his seat, leaning forward until he was barely still touching the couch. An inch more and he’d be on his knees a few feet from Connor, but he didn’t mind. That felt like a wonderful place to be right now.

“I didn’t kiss him. Tristan, that is. There was nothing wrong with him. I definitely could have, to see how it felt.” 

“Why didn’t you?”

“I missed you.” 

A rare tear spilled down Connor’s flushed cheek. Before he could overthink it, Hank was on his feet and closing the gap between them. Connor had stopped simulating breathing. When Hank got close, both men were hesitant. He placed a sweaty palm on Connor’s waist, and felt the warmth radiating from under his clothes. This close, his stomach grazed Connor’s with every deep inhale. Hank reached up and wiped the tear from Connor’s cheek with his other hand, and Connor melted. He leaned his head into Hank’s palm, LED blinking between blue and yellow. His eyes closed and Hank spent a moment drinking in the sight of Connor. The silence seemed beautiful now. Sweet and calm. 

Connor placed a hand flat on Hank’s chest, and for a moment Hank feared he was being pushed away. But the touch was gentle, exploratory. He rubbed softly, feeling the hair on Hank’s chest through cotton. His eyes opened, and Hank swore he could’ve fallen into those big, pleading pools of brown. He smiled incredulously. What could he possibly have done, in this life or any life before it, that was good enough to deserve Connor? He realised there were tears in his own eyes too. Connor had spent months ironing out the creases in his insecurities, but Hank hadn’t ever thought this was an option. The heavy awareness of all his own flaws pressed down on him. His hands were trembling. 

“How’d a washed up old fuck like me get this lucky?” He let out a breathy laugh of disbelief and held Connor closer. Connor smiled up at him, all hooded eyes and peaceful smile. He shook his head. He knew this would be Hank’s third worry. 

“Don’t.” He told Hank, his voice was kind. “It’s been months, Hank. I know what I want.” 

Hank felt like collapsing. He could easily fall into Connor at those words. Months. God, months. All the stress leaked from his shoulders and his head fell forward, forehead resting on Connor’s. 

They stood there for a while, enjoying the closeness. Relishing the feel of heart and thirium pump beating against each other’s chests. With closed eyes, they moved. Small and unhurried adjustments. The tips of their noses bumped together and both smiled. Connor intentionally rubbed the end of his nose into Hank’s, and he felt Hank shake with happy laughter. Then Connor lifted his chin, and they adjusted again. Their lips met, and the world fell quietly into place.


	3. Heaven Is In The Details

_ Earlier that evening  _

  
  


Connor sat in a booth of an upscale wine bar, across from an undeniably handsome lifeguard. Many of you reading this would likely give your right arm to be in this position, so Connor felt rightfully guilty when he realised he’d rather be somewhere else. Soft and classy piano music was layered by cheerful laughter and a dozen conversations at different tables, filling the room with a relaxed and contented hum. 

Thanks to recent upgrades, they'd been able to order drinks. Tristan chose a red wine, and Connor stuck to lemonade. He made up an excuse about the possibility of being called out to a crime scene, but in reality, alcohol made Connor far too honest. He’d first tried it with his friends from Jericho the night after his upgrade, and had enjoyed seeing the way it seemed to affect everyone differently. Not long into the night he’d found himself crying into Josh’s shoulder about how much he loved Hank. Josh, equally wasted and completely unprepared, had been reassuring and kind. While Tristan did seem kind, he was sure he wouldn’t be as comfortable with Connor ending their date that way. 

Connor made an effort to relax his uptight posture and mirror Tristan’s relaxed way of sitting. If anything it made him feel more tense, but Tristan seemed to buy that he was having a good time. In fairness, he was enjoying spending time with Tristan. He was an easy-going, fun guy and very open. Connor was used to having to pry personal information out of suspects- or worse, Hank- with difficulty, but Tristan was an open book. There was a part of Connor still unsure about whether he could read Hank at all. This part often fretted that Hank might not return his feelings. 86% was a high chance of success, but it wasn’t 100% after all. If he did have to move on from his long held feelings, the sweet and handsome guy across the table would be a great place to start. He decided that tonight he’d make an honest effort to build a connection with Tristan. He owed him that, and dating was a new experience he’d been keen to try anyway. Yet the way Tristan wore his attraction to Connor on his sleeve made him uneasy. It’s not that he didn’t appreciate it, but it was a stark contrast to the subtle interactions with Hank he’d deduced were flirtatious. It made him doubt his calculations. Connor sipped his drink and tried to ground himself in the conversation.

Tristan was built for retail; a store mannequin/ shop assistant in a sporting goods store before the revolution. He said he’d never really had any complaints about humans, and had he not interfaced with a deviant he may never have made the step to deviancy himself. That said, he valued his freedom, and he was making the most of it. Connor was a little disappointed. He’d hoped to bond over shared experiences of deviating and the struggles that came before hand, or even the struggles of finding your own way afterwards. Tristan kept things light, and Connor wondered if he genuinely did have a breezy attitude to life, or if he was the sort to keep his pain close to his chest. 

“I’m lucky, these days most people on the beach don’t know that I’m an android. I don’t know if that’s why I’ve never had any trouble over it, but I don’t try to hide the fact, y’know?”

Connor nodded, doing a good impression of someone listening and not thinking about just how large 14% is. 

“I bet  _ you _ get a whole lotta trouble.” Tristan tapped his temple and nodded towards Connor’s intact LED. 

“You one ‘a those activist types who says ‘bring it on’?” He laughed. There was clearly no unkindness meant, but Connor bristled. 

“I don’t think I’m an activist. I don’t see how it’s activism to simply exist without taking steps to hide who you are. If I’m seen as political for not masking my own existence, then the revolution wasn’t the success I thought it was.” He chewed his lip. That had come out more confrontational than he’d have liked. Luckily, Tristan didn’t take offence. Instead, he widened his eyes and grinned. 

“You got me there.” He raised one eyebrow. “You seem kinda stressed. Hope I didn’t touch a nerve?” 

Connor felt himself relax for the first time since he’d sat down. Tristan was so easy to talk to he had half a mind to insist Fowler hire the guy for interrogations. 

“No, it’s fine.” He smiled. “I’m just new to...” He gestured vaguely at the table and at Tristan. 

“As in this is your first date? Ever?” 

Connor nodded, cheeks warm. 

“Wow, I knew I was a lucky guy to get your number but now I’m  _ really _ flattered.” Tristan said. His blue, bedroom eyes sparkled under the shadow of messy blonde beach waves. His voice wasn’t as low as Hank’s but it had a similar honey-like quality that made Connor blush. Tristan flicked his hair out of his face. Connor started to wonder whether he could feel something for him, if he tried his best to. Tristan was charming, attractive and a calming presence. Maybe that 14% was too big of a risk to take. Telling Hank about his feelings and getting a negative response wouldn’t just break his heart, he’d likely end up having to move out and find a new job. It would be too painful otherwise, and the friendship wouldn’t ever be the same. Maybe he could be just as happy with someone else perfect, and he wouldn’t have to approach that dangerous cliff-edge at all with Hank. Maybe they’d laugh someday, when he was happy with Tristan, about how he’d nearly ruined their partnership by rushing in over feelings that faded away over time. Connor was pretty convinced his feelings weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, but the idea was comforting so he let himself entertain it. 

“Don’t worry about it, even people with experience don’t know what they’re doing. If we were doing it right we wouldn’t still be on first dates!” They laughed together and the residual tension in Connor ebbed away at the knowledge he wasn’t the only one who was out of his depth. 

“If you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re hiding it brilliantly” he grinned. Tristan shrugged.

“I’ve been on a lot of dates, and I think you just gotta learn to take it less seriously. I’ve had fun, now I’m looking for the right person for me. You can meet so many great people but if they aren’t that special someone then it’s not gonna feel right. You can’t push it, so might as well relax and see what happens, right?” 

“Yeah. I think you’re right” 

Connor chewed on that concept mentally throughout the evening. And it was a good evening. They talked more freely after that, and Connor loosened up. Tristan consistently surprised him. He was funny, caring, and when he took his jacket off Connor was convinced he hadn’t looked  _ that _ ripped the day they met. Obviously androids couldn’t build more muscle mass, but closer, in the intimate dimness of the bar, he noticed more of the little details that made Tristan perfect. He’d been built to be someone’s idea of perfection, and so had Connor. But it turns out one sentient work of art can appreciate the hell out of another. 

Connor felt guilty when he realised he was attracted to Tristan. Unusual feeling to have on a first date. However irrational, it felt like cheating on Hank. It felt like admitting that his feelings for Hank hadn’t been deep enough, but the truth was they were too deep. Looking at Hank hurt now. Being with him hurt. All the beautiful and unique things that made Connor fall in love with him were punches to the gut these days. They made him want to reach out and touch him, or at least tell him just how special he was, and keeping that locked inside felt like life before deviancy all over again. It was exhausting. What’s more, the preconstructions he’d run of telling Hank the truth almost always involved him telling Connor he was mistaken. Naive, confused, sheltered, call it what you want. In his head, a simulated version of Hank called bullshit on his feelings for him every night. So he felt a little defensive about so much as checking out somebody else. But why shouldn’t he? If he couldn’t have this with Hank, was it so bad to enjoy flirting openly with someone? Was he really so bad for enjoying somebody looking at him like that? He’d been waiting for Hank to do it long enough. There was a moment when these thoughts got so loud in his head he was on the verge of bursting into bitter, angry tears. He downed his drink instead and ordered another round. This time his lemonade came with a double shot of vodka. He doubled his focus on Tristan.

After about an hour of talking, Tristan paused suddenly and stared at the table for a beat. Without the LED it was harder to recognise as receiving data, but Connor caught on quick enough not to get anxious. Tristan looked up at Connor, excited. 

  
  


“Hey I just got a message from some friends of mine who live nearby. They’re having a small get together, nothing fancy. I figure since this place is closing soon we could maybe drop by together?” He flicked his hair out of his eyes. 

Whoever the ‘right person’ was for Tristan would have thought that meeting a group of his friends on their first date sounded like a fun idea. Connor thought it sounded odd, and completely out of the social norms of dating he’d been studying online. He agreed to the idea straight away. Lightly tipsy, Connor was attracted to Tristan, and right now he’d do anything to keep living in this daydream where he wasn’t going to get his heart broken. He was so close to convincing himself that it felt better being with Tristan than it did with Hank. It didn’t hurt here. That was enough right now. 

On the short walk to the party Connor had his gloves on. It was cold enough to look like this was a normal thing to do, but he could tell it puzzled Tristan. He couldn’t risk Tristan trying to interface and seeing a glimpse of what he was feeling right now. They took a shortcut through a park Connor had been to before with Hank and Sumo. Hank had given him the guided tour of where he’d arrested couples for public indecency, and one special spot where he’d been called about a severed arm in the bushes. Connor was close enough to sober to resist giving Tristan the highlights of this tour. When they got to the door of his friends’ apartment building, Tristan rang the bell then reached up and gently stroked the back of Connor’s hair, grazing his cheek lightly with his thumb.

“I’ll admit” he said quietly, “I half brought you here ‘cos my friends didn’t believe me when I told them how hot you are.” He giggled, drunk. Connor gave him a tipsy smile back, but felt the threat of tears stinging his eyes again. He hadn’t really caught what Tristan was saying, because his hand had been so soft against his skin. It was a silky and alluring feeling, but it just made Connor’s heart drop. All he could think about were the rough calluses on Hank’s fingertips from years of hard work and steel stringed guitars. Tristan’s hands were sculpted to be perfect, but perfect didn’t feel like home to Connor the way Hank did. He felt guilty that Tristan seemed to appreciate him so much and he was finding it hard to feel anything real in return. As soon as they were in the apartment, Connor poured himself a large drink from a table set out with spirits. 

  
  


It was late into the evening now, and Tristan seemed to have shown his first noticeable flaw. When he got to the party, he became so caught up with his close friends that Connor had slipped away into the corner of the room without anyone noticing much. Tristan really knew how to hold court. When he talked, his friends hung on every word, and laughed raucously at his jokes. He was a popular guy. Especially popular, Connor noticed, with a timid looking AX400 model who blushed noticeably when Tristan touched her arm while gesticulating. She tucked her long, black hair behind her ear and carried on watching him. Connor found himself watching  _ her _ with interest from across the room. As he worked on his third drink of the night, he caught a moment where Tristan began an anecdote, and the woman smirked knowingly at her feet. She’s heard this one before. Connor noticed she still listened as patiently and intently as the others. It didn’t take a detective prototype to see she was in love. She knew him inside out

Connor realised how incredibly unfair he was being. Tristan had told him plainly that it’s about finding the right person, and that you couldn’t push it, yet somehow he’d spent his whole night trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. He could tell Tristan was a great guy, and he’d been punishing himself for not feeling grateful about being with him. This shy household model was feeling the real thing, she wasn’t pushing. Connor being with Tristan would be as wrong as it would for her to be with Hank. She’d know he was a smart and caring man but Connor could fill anthologies with the beautiful things about him she’d always miss when looking. She could look at Tristan and see something he couldn’t. For her to try and love someone else seemed ludicrous to him, to the point where he laughed to himself at how fucking idiotic he’d been going out on a date in the first place. 

Tristan was laughing too, and so were his group, as the anecdote came to an end. Tristan opened his mouth wide when he laughed, revealing a pristine row of white teeth. Connor wondered if this was one of the little things she loved about him, when Hank laughed, he tended to instinctively put a hand over his mouth like he was trying to stop himself. He didn’t smile with his mouth open either, and Connor had taken a few months to realise that this was because he was self conscious about the gap between his front teeth. Connor loved seeing that little gap now, especially as it meant Hank felt comfortable enough with him not to hide it. 

Connor didn’t feel guilty or broken for not falling for Tristan anymore. He was just someone else’s Hank, that’s all. Someone else would go on to date and love every little thing about him. There was someone here who would love going to parties on his arm and listening to him tell the same stories, just like Connor loved hearing Hank tell him the same ones over and over again. The way he flicks his hair will make someone’s heart jump, like the way Connor’s thirium pump stutters when Hank ties his hair back from his face. Someone will adore this man’s mannerisms, the face he makes when he’s thinking hard, or the way he smiles. Connor didn’t have to feel guilty for not being that person.

The AX400 glanced around and accidentally caught eyes with Connor, giving him a polite and nervous smile. He smiled back, warm and genuine. Still smiling to himself, he slipped his coat back on. He found himself grinning widely, more joyful than he’d felt all night simply thinking about getting home to where he belonged. In a room of perfectly pleasant young people partying, he felt like he was in a waiting room, waiting to go back to Hank and feel as alive and overjoyed as they did. It didn’t have to hurt anymore. It hurt before because he was keeping it secret, but there was a large chance Hank could feel the same way. The 14% didn’t worry him so much anymore. He knew that man by heart, it seemed stupid to have ever doubted it. He knew his short fuse, his childish sense of humour, the way he pretended not to need glasses but so obviously did. Connor could practically tell what face he was making without looking at him sometimes. 

  
  


Connor grabbed a drink and downed it. He was drunk enough already to know he’d be compulsively honest, but he wanted to make sure he didn’t lose his nerve when he saw Hank. He had to tell him tonight. If the options were hiding or being open, then at least being open came with a healthy chance of not hurting anymore. He made an excuse to Tristan about a call from work, and said goodnight. Tristan looked puzzled for a moment after he turned away, but it wasn’t long before a dark haired AX400 was beside him and asking him more about work. Connor slipped out of the door unnoticed and relished the sting of the cold night air. Connor left somebody else’s Hank at a party, and went home to be with his. 

  
  



End file.
